


Family Heirlooms

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21816553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: For a request for Barsonoah holiday fluff
Relationships: Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 129





	Family Heirlooms

Barba carefully lifted Benson’s arm from his chest and slid himself toward the edge of the bed, but she made a sound of protest and opened one eye. “Why are you leaving me?” she mumbled.

Barba chuckled softly and leaned back, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. “If you don’t want your boyfriend sneaking out of bed to pee at all hours, now would be the time to trade in for a younger model,” he said, his voice low and rumbly from sleep. “I’ll hurry back so you don’t steal my spot.”

“Yours is warmer,” she said, already inching over to his side of the bed with her eyes closed. “And I’m too old for a boyfriend.”

“I hope you didn’t just break up with me,” he said, and he heard her quiet laugh as he padded out of the room. He was wearing an undershirt, boxers, and socks, and he shivered, glancing toward the fireplace. The cabin was chilly, and he saw that the fire was almost out. A few glowing embers lit the bottom of the fireplace.

There was light coming from Noah’s room, too, and Barba frowned. It was somewhere around 2am and, even though it was technically Christmas, the boy should be asleep.

Barba made his way to the bathroom, needing to take care of the most pressing business first. When he was finished he went to the fireplace and added wood, offering the embers a few stabs of the poker. He had little experience with starting fires, but to his relief the dry wood lit pretty quickly. Barba stood there for a minute, looking at the three stockings that he and Benson had hung along the mantle.

Lucia Barba held on to a lot of holiday traditions—sometimes to Barba’s exasperation—but he hadn’t had a Christmas stocking with his name on it since he was Noah’s age. Since his parents realized he didn’t believe in Santa Claus and hadn’t for years, that he’d simply been humoring his mother because she loved the season so dearly.

The sight of the three stockings—Rafael, Olivia, Noah—warmed Barba more than the struggling flames in the fireplace. He’d celebrated Christmases with Benson and Noah before, but this was the first one to see him and Benson as a couple. He’d wanted it to be special, so he’d rented a cabin upstate for the entirety of Noah’s holiday break. He’d hired people to sneak in a fully-decorated spruce before their arrival, surprising even Benson.

They’d already been skiing, sledding, and on a sleigh ride around the nearby lake. Everything had been as perfect as Barba could’ve hoped.

Replacing the poker, Barba walked quietly toward Noah’s room.

He expected the boy to be sleeping—he’d probably fallen asleep reading a book—and Barba was just going to turn off the light. When he pushed the cracked door further open, however, he saw Noah lying on his side, his fist curled beneath his cheek on the pillow, awake. He did have an open book on the bed beside him, but it was facedown.

Noah looked over at Barba without lifting his head, and Barba knew immediately that something was wrong. He walked into the room with a small frown, approaching the bed.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” he asked.

“I don’t feel good,” Noah answered quietly. Barba reached down and brushed the boy’s sweaty bangs back, pressing his wrist against Noah’s forehead.

“You’re pretty warm,” he said. Actually, Noah’s head was alarmingly hot, but Barba didn’t want to scare the kid. “Why didn’t you wake us?”

Noah half-shrugged his shoulder. His eyes were shiny, his cheeks flushed. Barba moved the book to the nightstand and sat on the bed. Noah had been quiet during dinner, but he’d simply said he was tired when they’d asked if anything was wrong. They’d spent most of the day wandering along the edge of the lake, and they were all tired, so Barba and Benson had accepted it as a reasonable explanation.

Now, Barba felt a rush of guilt. He put his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Are you sick to your stomach? Does your throat hurt?”

“Yeah,” Noah said.

“Both?”

Noah nodded his head against the pillow. “I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Ah, honey, always come wake us if you’re not feeling well. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Barba got up and went to the kitchen, where he filled a glass with water. Then he returned to the bathroom. He wetted a washcloth and rummaged through Benson’s makeup bag for the travel-sized bottle of Tylenol that he knew she kept there. Before going back to Noah’s room, Barba poked his head into the master bedroom.

“Liv,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Honey, Noah’s isn’t feeling well, is it okay if I give him a Tylenol?”

He could barely see her in the pale light, but he heard the rustle of bedding as she pushed herself up onto an elbow. “He’s sick? Yeah, okay, I’ll be right there.”

Noah hadn’t moved when Barba got back to his bed.

“Here,” Barba said, helping him sit up so Noah could swallow the pill. Barba sat on the edge of the bed again, and Noah settled back against the pillow. Barba laid the cool, damp cloth across the boy’s forehead. He hated seeing Noah feeling so miserably, and Barba felt helpless; he wanted to take away the kid’s discomfort. He’d take the sickness onto himself if he could. “Your mom’ll be here in a minute. What can I do?” he asked. “Do you want some orange juice?”

“Maybe,” Noah said.

“Okay.” Barba got up again and headed toward the kitchen. He’d only just reached the refrigerator when he heard Noah’s voice.

“Uncle Raf?” Barba turned to see Noah standing in his bedroom doorway. “I don’t feel…” The boy trailed off and, as Barba started toward him, suddenly rushed toward the bathroom.

Barba followed quickly and found him bent over, hands on the toilet seat, throwing up. “Jeez, Noah,” he said quietly, turning on the light. He walked over and put a hand on the boy’s back as Noah sank to his knees. “I’m sorry I can’t fix it, buddy,” he said.

Barba heard the floor creak outside the bathroom and looked over his shoulder as Benson appeared in the doorway. The sleepiness cleared from her expression when she saw Noah hugging the toilet. She moved past Barba and reached down, touching a hand to her son’s forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re—” _burning up_. She met Barba’s eyes. “Really warm,” she said.

“I gave him a Tylenol, but…” He gestured toward the toilet and she nodded.

“Sorry,” Noah mumbled.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Barba said, but his tone was gentle. To Benson, he asked, “Do we have any crackers?”

“There’s half a sleeve left from lunch yesterday. What time is it?”

“I don’t…uh, somewhere between two and three, I think?”

“The closest place that’ll be open is that convenience store…What was it? Twenty minutes?”

“About that. They did have a sign saying they’d be open Christmas.”

“You don’t have to—” Noah started. He stopped in mid-sentence, hesitated for a few seconds, and bent his head forward, vomiting with a grunt of pain that hurt both adults’ hearts.

Benson rubbed the boy’s back. “Shh, sweet boy,” she murmured, using the nickname for the first time in years. “Just breathe, baby. I’ll go get you some medicine, some soup…”

“Popsicles,” Barba said, pointing at his own throat to indicate that Noah’s was sore.

She nodded in acknowledgment. “We’ll get you feeling better in no time.”

Barba followed her out of the bathroom and into their bedroom. He grabbed sweatpants, pulling them on over his boxers. She stripped off her pajamas and got dressed quickly. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and checked the time before sliding it into her pocket. Barba grabbed his phone, too, and went to the kitchen to find a bowl to put beside Noah’s bed. He found the crackers in the cupboard and put them in the bowl to carry.

He grabbed the car keys from the counter while Benson was putting on her shoes. Walking over to hand her the keys, he said, “Be careful.”

She looked at him, and he knew she could see the hint of panic in his eyes. There was no question that he would stay with Noah, because Barba didn’t have a current driver’s license. But Barba didn’t know anything about dealing with sick kids, didn’t have a clue how to make Noah feel better. And what if he got worse?

Benson stood and kissed him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’m sorry, Rafael.”

“Hey, everything’ll be fine,” he assured her. “In a few hours he’ll be feeling much better, ready to open his presents, you’ll see.”

“Thanks,” she said, touching her hand to his face for a moment. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said. It still felt like a strange thing to say aloud, but it was a pleasant strangeness.

While she left their rented cabin, Barba took the large bowl and crackers into the bathroom.

“Come on, Noah, rinse your mouth out here and I’ll help you back to bed.” Holding the bowl under one arm, Barba helped Noah to his feet and handed him a cup of water. After he’d swished a mouthful of water and spat it out—accidentally getting half of it on the counter because he wasn’t tall enough to bend over the sink—Noah looked up at Barba. His face was pale except for the flush in his cheeks.

Barba put a hand on his back and walked him into the bedroom. Noah climbed slowly onto the mattress and rolled over to lean against the pillows. His curls were stuck to his forehead, and the collar of his flannel shirt was stuck to his skin.

“Here, try to eat a little bit of this, it might help settle your stomach,” Barba said, giving the boy a saltine. Noah obediently nibbled at the cracker, but he winced when he swallowed. “Okay, we can try later. Just get some rest, and if you feel like you’re going to be sick, use this bowl right here.”

“What if I throw up on the bed?” Noah asked, his glassy eyes wide with worry.

“Then we’ll wash the sheets,” Barba assured him. He knew there was a plastic mattress cover under the fitted sheet, but even if there weren’t he wouldn’t want Noah to worry about things like that when he was sick. Barba bent over the boy and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders.

“I’m too hot.”

“I know, but try to stay covered up if you can, alright? It might help scare away your fever.” He was happy to see the faint smile curve Noah’s lips, and Barba impulsively bent to kiss the boy’s hot forehead. “You just stay here and rest and I’ll check on you in a few minutes, okay? You yell for me if you need anything.”

Noah nodded and let his eyes flutter closed. His eyelids looked dark in his pale face.

Barba cleaned up the bathroom and went to the kitchen. He pulled the ice cube trays out of the freezer and broke the cubes loose, dumping them into the sink. He filled the trays with orange juice and carefully slid them back into the freezer. He wasn’t sure if the store would have popsicles, and he felt better having a backup plan. He sent Benson a quick text to add more juice to her list, and then he walked quietly back into Noah’s room

At first he thought the boy was sleeping, but then Noah’s lashes fluttered and his blue eyes found Barba’s face. “Uncle Rafa?” he asked, and Barba crossed over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I’m right here.” He felt Noah’s forehead. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought his fever had gone up. “You need a drink of water or anything?”

“I know there’s not really a Santa.”

Barba hesitated, caught off guard. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing while Benson was gone. He took a moment to assess whether or not Noah was bluffing, but the boy’s expression was open. “What makes you say that?” Barba finally asked.

Noah offered a small, tired shrug against the pillow. “Some kids at school said so. And some of the presents say _from Santa_ but they have the same wrapping paper as the ones from you.”

Barba tried to hide his grimace, but he cursed himself a thousand times over. He knew that every kid stopped believing eventually, but he couldn’t bear the thought that _he_ was responsible for ruining the magic of Christmas for Noah. How could he make such a stupid mistake? Of course Noah would notice a detail like that.

Barba considered lying, but only for a moment. He considered deflecting, but he owed Noah more than that. He floundered for something to say. “When I was four years old, my father got me a bike for Christmas. He wrapped it up early because he didn’t want to wait to put it together, and he put it behind the tree. I knew I wasn’t supposed to snoop, and I didn’t. I could see that big present back there for days and I never once sneaked a peek. Christmas morning I was so excited that it was the first one I went for.” He paused, surprised by the pang he felt at the memory. There was a whole lot of nostalgia, but also a familiar twinge of pain. “The tag said it was from Santa Claus. At first I was confused because I knew Santa hadn’t brought that present, it had been there for days, I knew my parents had put it there. And then I realized.”

“Didn’t they know you could read?”

Barba smiled. “They knew. I think they just assumed I was too young to figure it out.”

“Were they mad?”

“I didn’t tell them I knew. My _mami_ was always so excited at Christmas time, and she knew how much I wanted a bike to ride to the park. She made a big deal about how Santa knew I’d been a good boy, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her. I pretended for a long time after that. For years. When she found out, she was disappointed. But Christmas isn’t really about Santa Claus, Noah. He’s just a symbol.”

“What about your dad?”

“My father…Well, he and I were never really close.”

“Was he mean?”

Barba knew he shouldn’t be surprised by the question, by Noah’s insight. “Sometimes,” he finally admitted, because he couldn’t lie. “He had a hard life and it made him into a hard man.” Barba cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Noah, I didn’t mean to—”

“Are you mad?”

“Am I angry with _you_?”

“Should I have pretended?”

“Noah…honey, you don’t ever have to be afraid to tell me anything, alright? No matter what. Or your mom. And anyway, it’s my fault for messing up the wrapping paper. Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s okay,” Noah said quietly. He paused, regarding Barba solemnly. “You got me a lot of presents.”

“Yeah? Is it too many? Does it look like a bribe?” To his relief, Noah laughed. It was a small sound that probably hurt his sore throat, but it was a genuine laugh and Barba was suddenly overwhelmed by his love for the kid. He’d never seen himself as a parent, never thought he’d have a family of his own, and the very idea was still terrifying. He knew there was no turning back, though. Benson and her son _were_ Barba’s family. “I’m still getting the hang of this so I need you to tell me when I mess up.”

Noah was silent for long moments before saying, “Are you gonna marry my mom?”

Barba thought about the engagement ring, wrapped up in a small box under the Christmas tree, and the similarly-sized package with Noah’s name on it. “Would you be alright with that?”

“Would you live with us all the time, then?”

“Yes,” Barba said. He and Benson had already discussed him moving into her apartment, but she didn’t know he was planning on proposing. He was nervous, but it was a good nervousness. He knew she should say no and hold out for someone better, but he also knew she would say yes. As improbable as it seemed, she loved him, too.

“Okay,” Noah said.

Barba’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatpants, and he shifted a hip to fish it out. “We can talk about it all when you’re feeling better,” he said, glancing down at the phone. “Just try to get some rest.”

“Okay,” the boy repeated.

“I’ll be right in the other room.”

Barba kissed Noah’s forehead again and tucked the blankets up to his chin before walking back into the living room. He dialed Benson’s number as he went, but when she answered he walked toward the kitchen and dropped his voice so Noah wouldn’t overhear.

“What happened, are you alright?” he asked. She’d texted that she had a flat tire, and several terrifying scenarios had already played out in his brain.

“I’m fine,” she said. She sounded tired and frustrated. “But my spare is flat so I’m waiting for a tow truck. They said it’ll be an hour.” She paused, and he could practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even want to think about how much that’s going to cost.”

“Do you need me to do something?”

“No, I’ll be back as soon as I can. How’s Noah doing?”

“He’s burning up. He hasn’t puked again but he only ate a bite of cracker because of the sore throat.”

“Okay, you can try to give him another Tylenol since I don’t know how long I’ll be with this medicine now.”

“Alright. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you while you wait?”

“No, you and Noah both try to get some rest.”

“Try not to worry about us. Just be safe and get back when you can, we’ll be here. Love you.”

She sighed. “I love you, too.”

Barba hung up and checked on Noah. The boy’s eyes were still closed, so Barba made his way back into the living room and sank down onto the sofa. He stared into the fireplace, watching the flames dance. Dawn was still hours away, and it didn’t feel like Christmas morning. He wasn’t sure if Noah would even be well enough to open presents, but none of Barba’s plans mattered. All that mattered was getting Noah feeling better. They could celebrate after that.

Barba leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He didn’t dare go back to bed and risk not hearing if Noah called for him. He listened to the crackle and pop of the fire and let his mind wander a bit. He was too tired to read, and the knots of worry in his gut wouldn’t let him concentrate for long, anyway.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes when he heard shuffling in the bedroom doorway. Noah was standing there with the comforter from the bed wrapped around himself like an oversized robe. “Are you alright?” Barba asked, already getting to his feet.

“I can’t sleep,” Noah said. He looked and sounded terrible, and Barba felt another rush of helplessness. “My throat hurts.”

“Okay, I’ll get you another Tylenol—”

“Can I sit out here with you?”

“Of course, if you want. Or I can sit in—” Barba stopped, because Noah was already making his way over to the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

Barba got the bowl and set it on the floor by the sofa. He handed Noah the glass of water and a Tylenol, and waited while the boy carefully swallowed the pill. Noah pulled the blanket tighter and laid down on his side, curled up. He looked tiny and fragile and miserable.

Barba went to the kitchen and returned in a minute with a cup of half-frozen orange juice cubes. He used a spoon to smash them into slush as he walked.

“Can I watch cartoons?” Noah mumbled.

“Sure. Here, sit up a little. Eat some of this, it’ll help your throat.”

Noah sat up and peered into the cup. “Slushie,” he muttered before tentatively putting a spoonful into his mouth. Barba settled onto the end of the sofa and picked up the remote, but before he’d even turned on the television Noah scooted closer and snuggled up against his side. Barba was surprised, but he put his arm around the boy’s small, feverish frame. Noah was slowly eating the orange slush, staring toward the TV with glassy eyes.

Barba turned on the television and flipped through the channels.

“The Grinch,” Noah said.

“Okay,” Barba agreed, turning the volume low before setting the remote aside. He brushed Noah’s hair back from his forehead. “How’s the slushie? Good?”

Noah nodded and laid his head against Barba’s chest.

* * *

It was after five when Benson got back. She was tired, cold, and hungry, and more than a little worried about Noah. Every smallest illness worried her and reminded her of all the health scares he’d had as an infant and toddler, all the hours she’d spent in hospitals or pacing her apartment sick with fear that he wouldn’t be able to fight off the latest infection.

But he’d always been a fighter, and she knew that he was in good hands with Barba even if Barba himself had doubts.

She let herself into the cabin as quietly as possible, hoping they’d both managed to get back to sleep. She put the paper sack and her purse on the table and walked softly toward the living room where she could see that the television was on—A Charlie Brown Christmas. The volume was turned down so low that she couldn’t hear it until she’d almost reached the sofa.

Barba was leaned back into the corner of the couch with his feet on the floor and his arm around Noah. Noah looked far more comfortable than Barba; the boy was cuddled up against Barba’s chest, legs curled inside the comforter wrapped around him.

Both of them were sound asleep, and she watched them for a several seconds with her heart so full of love she thought it might burst. The fire had been restocked again and was burning brightly, keeping the cabin warm and cozy. The Christmas lights on the tree cast pretty speckles of color onto the shiny packages beneath and the wooden floor. The soft sounds from the television reminded her of her own childhood, watching the same Christmas special.

She let out a breath and felt most of her worry and tiredness slip away with the puff of air. She put a light hand on Barba’s shoulder, afraid of startling him, and whispered, “Rafael.”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, blinking her into focus. He glanced down at Noah and back up at her. “Hey,” he said quietly, suppressing a yawn. “Everything go okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry it took so long. How is he?”

“The Tylenol helped his fever, he’s definitely cooler,” Barba said. “Hasn’t thrown up anymore. Ate some crackers and a lot of orange juice slushie.”

She smiled and bent to wrap an arm around Barba’s chest in the closest thing to a hug his position would allow. She kissed his head, and then his lips when he turned his face up. “I love you,” she whispered. He covered her arm with his hand for a moment before giving her another kiss. “Do you want me to put him back to bed?” she asked.

“I do have to pee,” Barba murmured with a smile, “but it can wait.”

Before she could answer, Noah stirred against Barba’s chest. His eyes fluttered open and, after a couple of seconds, he lifted his head to look at Benson. “Mommy?” he asked. He almost never called her that anymore. His face was flushed, but a quick check of his forehead with her wrist confirmed what Barba had already known. Noah’s fever had gone down.

Once he got some soup into his belly and some more medicine into his system, hopefully he’d be able to sleep off most of the illness. Benson walked over to sit by Noah’s feet. “How’re you feeling, honey?” she asked. “Any better?”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself off Barba and toward Benson. She wrapped him into a hug and kissed his curls. “Is it Christmas now?”

“It is. But we can celebrate later when you’re feeling better. Do you want to try to eat something, are you hungry?”

“A little. Can we open a present?”

Benson smiled over Noah’s head at Barba. She should’ve known the flu wouldn’t keep her son from wanting to open gifts. “Maybe just one for right now,” she said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

Barba had straightened up beside Noah, hiding his wince at the twinge in his back, and he stretched and yawned. “Tell me which one you want, _mijo_ , I’ll bring it to you.”

Noah looked at him. “It’s for Mom,” he said. “I’ll get it, I know where it is.”

“Oh you do, huh?” Benson asked with a laugh. “Has someone been snooping?”

“No,” Noah answered, getting carefully to his feet and keeping the blanket around himself while he padded over to the tree. “I just saw it is all.”

“Why am I opening a present?” she asked, glancing at Barba.

“Because,” Noah said.

Barba offered Benson a sheepish smile. He was going to have to explain about how his oversight had ruined Santa Claus for Noah, but that could wait until the two adults were alone. When Noah turned and straightened with the small silver package in his hand, Barba’s stomach fluttered nervously. He met Noah’s eyes and realized that Noah knew—or had guessed—what was in the box.

“We don’t have to do that right now,” Barba said, not because he didn’t _want_ to do it but because he didn’t want to take anything away from Noah’s Christmas morning when the boy had already had such a rough start.

“Please?” Noah asked. His big blue eyes were locked onto Barba’s face and Barba had to swallow several times to dislodge the lump of emotion in his throat.

“Alright,” Barba said. “But you need to grab the other one that looks like it.”

Noah frowned and looked back toward the tree, his gaze landing on the other small, silver package with his own name on it. He bent and grabbed it, looked at it for a few seconds, and then shot Barba a questioning look.

Barba nodded and motioned him over, but Noah hesitated and looked at Benson. Something silent seemed to pass between them, and Benson offered her son a smile and nod. He turned and fetched a third package—it was square, messily wrapped in red paper with reindeer faces smattered on the sides, and Noah walked over and handed it to Barba. Then he handed Benson’s present to Barba, too.

Barba felt dangerously close to crying. He hadn’t asked Noah for permission, but it had been granted nonetheless, and Barba reached out impulsively and pulled the boy into a tight hug. He kissed Noah’s cheek. “Love you, buddy,” he murmured before letting him go, and Noah crawled back onto the sofa to settle down between the two adults.

Barba and Benson looked at each other over his head, and Barba sniffed before smiling. It wasn’t exactly what he’d planned, but that was alright. He held the small package toward Benson and noted that her fingers had a slight tremor when she took it from him.

“You go first, Mom,” Noah said.

“Are you sure?” She looked at Barba.

“I agree,” Barba answered.

She looked down and started unwrapping the box, and Noah turned his head to grin up at Barba. Barba rubbed Noah’s back and smiled in return, and then they both watched Benson pull the ring box out and flip it open. Her eyes filled with tears, and Barba’s eyes burned in response. He managed another smile when she looked over at him, though.

“It’s my grandmother’s,” he said. “I can get something new if you’d like, and I promise I had more of a speech prepared, but…I’d be incredibly honored if you’d let me be your husband, Liv.”

Noah bounced a little on the sofa. His excitement was subdued by his lack of energy but not completely squashed.

Benson leaned over her son to kiss Barba. “Yes,” she said, running her fingers over Barba’s stubbled jaw, “of course. I love you.” She drew back so she wasn’t squishing Noah; there would be time later, when it was just her and Barba, to properly revel in the reality of the proposal. In the meantime, she slipped his grandmother’s ring onto her finger. She wasn’t surprised to find that it fit.

“Your turn, Noah,” Barba said quietly.

“But yours—” the boy started to object.

“Please,” Barba said.

Noah stopped, considered, and looked down to open his own present. When he pulled out the box and opened it, he found an antique silver pocket watch gleaming up at him. He touched a hesitant finger to it and looked up at Barba, clearly unsure.

“I know it’s not very exciting right now,” Barba assured him. “But…this is a pocket watch that my great-grandfather bought in Cuba, and he passed it down to his eldest son, my _abuelo_. He gave it to my father, and my father gave it to me. I didn’t think I’d ever have a son to give this to, but…” He cleared his throat. He couldn’t look at Benson or he knew he would completely lose his composure. “Noah, I would be incredibly honored if you’d let me be your dad.” His voice sounded thick to his own ears, and his nose and eyes were burning. The tears in Noah’s eyes, and happy smile splitting his face, didn’t help, nor did the fact that Benson was crying.

“Okay,” Noah exclaimed, throwing his arms around Barba in a hug. Barba cleared his throat again, blinking the moisture from his eyes, and finally chanced a glance at Benson. He somehow managed a shaky smile, but before he could say anything Noah drew back and said, “Open yours!”

“Oh.” Barba sniffled wetly and looked down. The tag said _Uncle Raf_ on it, written carefully in Noah’s handwriting. Barba popped the tape from the flaps. “Is it a car? You know I don’t have a license, right?”

Noah giggled and shot his mother a quick look.

Barba pulled out a square cardboard box and opened it to reveal a coffee mug. He lifted it out and it immediately doubled as his vision blurred. Noah had clearly decorated the mug in school, and it said _Merry Christmas Dad, love Noah_ in a variety of colors, and Noah had also added several drawings of Christmas trees and presents and misshapen reindeer. Someone—presumably the teacher—had written the year on the bottom of the mug, along with Noah’s full name and grade.

“Mom said it would be okay,” Noah said.

Barba couldn’t speak, so he turned and gathered them both into a hug. Noah made a sound of complaint as he was squashed between the adults, but then he laughed.

“Merry Christmas, Barba,” Benson said softly, and Barba chuckled through his tears.

“Merry Christmas,” he answered, kissing Noah’s head before finding Benson’s lips with his own.


End file.
